"Twilight for Anonymous…"
Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!
Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...
General audience level...
Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…
Part XVIII…
Flitch having passed the main hall guard to the dungeon entrance made his way stealthily down…
Damn my eyes, if anyone had ever told me one day I'd be a Watcher trying to rescue his Slayer…And my aristo girlfriend…Smile…From a vampire prince and his clueless idiot aristo pal…
"Who goes there…?! Hold!" a voice sternly called.
"Hallo there…" Willie, cheerily. "Important message from Lord Essex here. His seal…" he waved Essex's note.
"Give here…" the guard muttered. "Don't move." He took letter.
Right, the one educated man in the lot…Willie sighed.
Had hoped he'd have to call in some clerk or something.
Oh, well…Time to hope my clients' have kept faith with me. He pulled at cloak, murmuring…
"This is to the Queen! What's it to do with…?" the guard stared at empty space.
"You! Where are you?!" he cried as the now invisible Willie slipped on by and heading down paused at the next locked door, knocking over lantern to put it out.
Well, Miss Endora was true to her word as a witch…Though this remains just collateral on her loan, he thought, striking door to attract the utterly confused guard.
"Escape!" he cried in the dark. "Guard! The prisoners are trying to escape!"
He seemed just brave enough to…Ah, he is.
"I've passed the word up! Where are you?!" the guard looked, peering in the dark. "Hey!" he cried as the lantern struck him.
"Right here, terribly sorry, friend." Willie noted to the guard now unconscious on floor.
Pity those you were just sensible enough to call in help…He felt for the keys and quickly finding, unlocked the door and passed on down…
…
"Frances! Slayer!" Willie's voice called in the barely torch lit dark…
"Willam!" Frances eagerly from her cell. "I knew you'd come! Where are you?"
"Willie, get me out of here, now!" Anne demanded.
"There's little time…" Willie, decloaking to reveal himself…
"Willam?" Frances staring as Willam passed on to Anne's cell… "Let me out!"
First, she did not say…
"Love, the Slayer's our best hope to leave here alive…" he noted from Anne's cell, looking for the lock…Damn the key's not the same, he looked round…Ah, key hanging. "There's little time, but soon as I get her out…" he grabbed at the key and returned to Anne's cell, she stridently urging him on…
"Hurry there! Get me loose!"
"Lovely…Betray the woman who loves you, mother of your…" Frances groused.
He eyed her stricken look and hand to mouth…
"Willam, I'd not meant to say…Like this…"
"Frances…My Lady… Dearest…No harm done. But I'm trying to save us all and the Slayer's the Key here, no casting aspersions on your own abilities…."
Hmmphf…Frances glared.
"Oh, enough, you silly fool. You want to try and fight Devere yourself?" Anne groused from her cell as Willam carefully forced the cell door open and stepped in.
"Tis wiser to free my wife first, milady." Shakespeare urged. "She is our best hope to fight the Dark One. And safer for your wee babe…"
"Fine, fine…" annoyed wave of hand. "Get the woman out and then help me, Willam!"
"A moment…" Willie fumbled with the shackles on Anne. Suddenly both and the others, in their cells tensing at the sound of a door slamming shut…
"Guards! Man down!" call from farther upstairs…
Hmmn…Whomever was at the door was not the relief force, Willie realized.
"Willam, hurry!" Frances hissed. "Come on, Willie!" Anne urged, whispering.
"Just a moment, love…Slayer." Willam whispered. He backed against a corner of the cell and slipped down and then with rather feline move, rolled under the bed as Bella appeared in the hallway, bearing a blanket, pulling cloak and disappearing.
Remarkable, Shakespeare eyed where Willam had folded himself right under the cell's bed in an instant…And then vanished.
"I've brought the blanket for Master Shakespeare…" wan call. "The guards are upset, I hear them. What's wrong?" she looked about.
"You mustn't try to leave, he'd be angry." She noted.
"What's about down there!" loud cry. "Have the prisoners escaped?! Who's down there?! Surrender yourself!"
"It's just Bella…" Bella called. "No one's escaped."
"Stay where you are!" the man's voice insisted.
"Bring the blanket to him, girl!" Anne called, eyeing where Willam had disappeared.
She watched as Bella cautiously approached Shakespeare's cell. Frances trying to glance over from her cell, apprehensive.
"Where's your Master, girl?" she called. "Go and fetch him! I must speak with him again."
"Thanks, Miss…" Shakespeare pulled the blanket passed between the bars, Bella nodding wanly but glancing round.
"I think I had best stay…The guard said…"
"What's about here?!" a tall guard in armor with two others had entered the dungeon area. "Who assaulted the Sergeant?! Girl, speak up! Now!" he addressed the frightened Bella.
…
Meanwhile, above events were taking a serious turn with the arrival of a messenger from the Court…Seized by Essex's guards at said arrival with little ceremony and brought before Essex and Devere, currently consulting in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Essex rather pathetically optimistic about his chances given the uncovering of the "plot". Edward rather more reserved in his enthusiasm…
Still, one should be prepared for the possibility of success…Liza is very fond of her Bob boy and this might just possibly give her the out she'd love to…
Hmmn…Both listening to the frightened messenger's urgently gasped out, but in no way less unequivocal statement.
No…I don't think so…Devere nodded, eyeing Essex.
"What do you mean, the Queen's Guard is preparing to march?! Upon my home?!" Essex, astounded, stared at the terrified man. "Without any hearing? She refuses to see me?!"
I think he means the jig is up, Bob. And yon pretty head is headed basketward. Devere, concealing grin.
The political winds are so fickle, poor boy. Still, you're not quite dead yet. Eliza might, just possibly might…
"She's not heard of the Papist Plot of the Cecils and their ally, Shakespeare?" Essex demanded.
"Not a word, my Lord. The Cecils remain firmly in her bosom." Nervous agitation. "My Lord, I think it best if…"
"Well, I shall retrieve the situation." Essex, resolutely. As resolutely as he proceeded to disaster in Ireland, Devere noted to himself with quiet amusement. "We shall march at once upon the City, rescue the Queen from the Cecils and lay this vile plot at her feet. Call our friends together, Edward! We march!"
Devere, trying to restrain rolling of eyes…
Stop…Wait…Think, Bob…He amusedly thought. Think? Oh, no…Not this idiot.
"Of course, old friend. We march." Resolutely supportive nod.
Well, so much for the last hope of keeping your head, Bob.
"My Lord, I really think…" the messenger, desperately. "The Queen will never accept this…"
"Coward." Sneer, sweep of cloak in grand gesture. "Return…Or, stay behind with the women if you wish. Come, my friend…Tis time to save the Nation." Essex turned to Devere who pasted languidly determined look on face.
"Certainly, Bob. Certainly." Devere nodded.
So, now just have to see at what point I slip out and return to deal with my Slayer. I think I might take her and Shakespeare to France for a few years, England will be up in arms for a bit and even after I stage my latest Devere's death, I'll want to keep out of sight till a new heir can appear.
Not that there's any serious threat to the family lands and estate, my having in secret provided the Cecils with enough intel on Bob and his ludicrous affairs to keep them safely in my hands as the gracious Queen's reward, but as the word gets out, I might be plagued with a few would-be avengers I'd have to kill. Plus the Watchers' Council will surely consider me a menace to be put down after I've taken their latest Slayer…
Fun of course to be the focus of such attentions, but rather tiresome. And one could always get lucky with an arrow or gunpowder… I haven't survived this long by underestimating opponents, even foolish human ones.
Yes, France is the place for us. Really, I am doing Posterity a huge favor. Who knows what a change of venue may do for Shakespeare's genius? What he…Or rather, I…Grin…May come up with there? Ah, I can see it now in my biography "Devere: The French Years".
Idiot evil may want to conquer the world but Devere shall conquer Posterity...And the truest Immortality shall be mine.
…
